


Body of Stone, Heart of...?

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Series: Undead Chosen One [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Blood Drinking, Gen, Undead, Vampire Anakin, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 10:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9487508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: The dinner with Bail and his Cryptozoologist friend wore Obi-Wan out. The next morning-- er-- evening-- is just a little rough.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies, people. When I copied the story from my word document to here the formatting went all haywire. And then I tried to fix it, to make sure a new person speaking started a new paragraph, and it made strange gaps. So then I just gave up. I thought you guys would be more interested in the story than in me holding it back to make the formatting all pretty. Someday, I'll tackle it. Most likely. I think.

Obi-Wan blinked at the ceiling, amazed he could hold his eyelids open at _all._

He felt like he'd been run over.

He recognized the disturbance that had awakened him— the one that wasn't going to allow him to drift back to sleep.

He didn't have the energy to groan in protest when he tried to roll out of bed and found the end of the blankets  _trapped._

Anakin had  _tucked him in_ ? Obi-Wan hadn't been tucked in since—

_Qui-Gon._

Obi-Wan let out a sigh and dragged himself to the door.

He didn't think Anakin was in danger of destroying the Temple, the urgency didn't seem to have that tone—

But he was certainly worked up about  _something_ .

Obi-Wan managed to nod greetings to the various Jedi he passed in the halls.

They were returning to their rooms to  _sleep._

_And I'm just waking up._

Obi-Wan had never been much of a night person. He preferred mornings.

Now  _Anakin..._

That was another matter.

_What have you gotten yourself into now?_

He nearly tripped over Yoda.

The small green Jedi stared up at him in surprise, and then understanding flooded his eyes. “Summoned, you have been.”

“What? No—”

Yoda lightly tapped Obi-Wan's knees with his gimmer stick. “Out of a sound sleep pulled you were. Rumpled, your hair still is.”

Obi-Wan frowned and tried to brush the offending dishevelment into some sort of order with his fingers.

“Remember clearly, I do, the last time left your room you did before  _readying._ ”

Obi-Wan glanced down at his wrinkled and twisted robes. “Oh?”

“ _Six years old_ , you were.”

Obi-Wan huffed a laugh. “And that was the  _last_ time Vos was anything  _other_ than disheveled.”

“Too bad that here to listen to your sarcasm, young Quinlan is not.” Yoda shook his head with a smirk that swiftly disappeared into concern. “Anxious, feel you?”  
Obi-Wan squinted down at him. “What?”

“Bothered, you are, that interrupted you I have.”

“Of course not, Master—”

“ _Fidgeting._ ”

Obi-Wan startled as he realized the old one was right.

“Another habit, that lost to time used to be.” Yoda shook his head. “Bruises, there, are, beneath your eyes. Your body, well is not.”

“We do have an answer for why that is, and a plan on how to proceed.” Obi-Wan straightened his tunics and squared his shoulders. “It's inconvenient, little more.”

“Look me in the eye, you cannot. Watching the hallway you are.”

  
Obi-Wan drew in a long breath, trying to still the flutters in his stomach. “Something is wrong with Anakin. It woke me up, and I'm on my way to make sure he's alright.”

“In danger, Skywalker is not.” Yoda watched him with knowing eyes. “Need you  _immediately,_ he does not.”  
Obi-Wan barely managed to keep himself from restarting the fidgeting. “Master—” 

“Concerned, I am,” Yoda confessed, “and concerned too, knight Skywalker will be. The time you can tolerate away from his side, lessening is. Cripple you, it might, if continue to allow this to advance, he does.”

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably. “It's the venom. A catchment device should have been delivered last night— last morning—” He pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in a deep breath. “This morning. Last time it was light outside. We just have to wait for the venom already in my system to work its way out.”

“Convinced that will solve it, I am not.” Yoda reached out and placed a small palm on Obi-Wan's knee. “An experiment, I would like to undertake. A solo mission, off-planet. See if function, you can, when not near him.”

  
“Of course I can  _function—_ ”

Yoda nodded. “Then to prove it, little inconvenience will it cause you.”

Obi-Wan watched him walk away, and felt supremely unsettled by the pull that drew him to Anakin's chamber.

_Yoda is right._

He hadn't noticed it himself, but...

Now it was unmistakable.

He found the door to Anakin's room closed, and the other half of his soul pacing the hallway outside. Relief flooded the boy's eyes as he sensed Obi-Wan's arrival. “Master. Ahsoka's in there, and refuses to leave.”

“She's back? How is she?”

“I told her it wasn't safe. She has a cut on her arm, Obi-Wan. I think she did it  _to herself._ She walked in,  _bleeding,_ for Force's sake, and sat on the worktable and refused to leave.” He ran a hand through his tangled curls. “I don't know what the  _hell_ she's thinking.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Makes sense to me.” When Anakin stared at him in disbelief, he tried to explain. “Imagine it was  _me._ Who'd become some creature from legend, supposedly driven mad by the sight and scent of blood. Would you have researched it on your own, beyond what you'd been told?”

“Of course.”  
“And what would those accounts have you to believe?”

Anakin sighed. “That you were no longer in control of yourself. That you were a monster with the shape of Obi-Wan, not actually Obi-Wan. That you would try to kill me at the drop of a hat.”

“Indeed. Would you believe it?”

“No.”

“And being young and impetuous, and not thinking things through quite as clearly as you  _could—_ ”

“ _Hey!_ ”

“— what is the quickest way to prove the matter?” Obi-Wan spread his hands wide.

Anakin scowled. “It's  _stupid,_ Obi-Wan. Does she have any idea what would have happened if she'd pulled this stunt a few months ago?”

“You're her world, Anakin. She may be so desperate to prove that you are still the man she sees as her parent that she refuses to believe you  _could_ be something else. Confronting you this way might be an effort to prove to  _herself_ she has no doubts about you. She may be afraid that treating you as dangerous is somehow betraying you.”

Anakin dragged his hand down his face. “Obi-Wan, she was there when I woke up. The instant I woke up, all I could smell was  _blood._ ”

“Are you hungry?”

“...yes,” Anakin admitted, reluctant. “And it— for a moment I couldn't quite  _see_ her. And then suddenly I realized I was standing there, over her, staring at that cut—” A shudder ran down his back. “So I bolted. It  _scared me_ , Obi-Wan. I could have  _hurt her._ And even if I didn't permanently damage her, I could have completely terrified her and broken her trust.”

Obi-Wan gave him a sympathetic nod and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Anakin's nostrils flared, just subtly, but enough.

“Let's go back in there, you can eat, and Ahsoka can deal with that however she needs to.”

Anakin's eyes widened. “But once she  _sees_ it—”

“She's trying to come to terms with your current state. Pretending you are still human won't help. Not when she's intentionally baiting you.”

Anakin growled, low in his throat. “Obi-Wan, I nearly  _killed you._ More than once. Why can't she  _respect that_ ?”

“She's always seen you as safe, Anakin. It probably scares her to have to face a future that might be more complicated.”  
“The same way it scares Padmé?”

Obi-Wan gave him a sympathetic smile. “Sometimes people need time to adjust to these kinds of changes.  _You_ did, after all.”  _Could that be all Satine needs? Time?_

He squelched that thought.

Satine had turned away from him. Wanted nothing more to do with him.

_And I_ will  _respect her choice._

No meant no.

The ache in his heart threatened to blot out his conversation with Anakin—

“They're both afraid of me. Other people— the Council, Bail— they aren't because  _you_ aren't, and they trust  _you._ But why  _weren't_ you afraid of me?”

Obi-Wan lowered his head. “I have a different relationship with death than most.”

“You knew I might— and in those early days— was almost  _definitely_ going to kill you, and you just didn't care?” Anakin squinted at him.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes against the pain. “Qui-Gon is dead. He left you in my care. If you lost yourself so completely that you could no longer be found... death would become very attractive.”  _And the only other being who might hold me to life cast me away._

The cruelty of her words made him wince.

She knew how to cut him to the bone.

And she'd done so without mercy.

_Qui-Gon dead, Satine hating me, and Anakin lost?_

At that point, dying by his former apprentice's fang would be a mercy.

“I don't like how comfortable you are with death.” Anakin's voice broke through his thoughts.

Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow at him. “It's what allowed me to face you without fear, and, might I add, you're currently  _dead_ right this minute. If I had difficulty facing death and seeing a friend instead of an enemy, you and I might have problems.”

Anakin reached out, unconsciously brushing his fingers against the tunics shielding the bite marks on Obi-Wan's throat. “Please don't be so cavalier,” he whispered. “Eternity would be a very long time without you.”  
A whisper of long silver hair, a broken nose, a man so tall he made Obi-Wan look tiny simply standing by his side—

Obi-Wan swallowed hard.  _I know the feeling._

Not trusting himself to reply, he keyed the door open and stepped inside. “Hello, Ahsoka.”

He was thankful for the slightly rebellious gleam in her eye as she raised a sullen face to look at him.

It allowed him to look anywhere but at the pain that wanted to swallow him whole.

 

* * *

 

Anakin swallowed the whine that wanted to escape his throat.

His heart felt so...  _oversensitive._

No, that wasn't accurate.

He was handling Padmé's need for space  _much_ better than he ever would have thought he could.

But that yawning chasm of agony and loneliness in Obi-Wan's soul had sucked Anakin in like a black hole.

He felt disoriented, lost as a grief a decade old whistled through his mind, like a frigid wind sweeping dead leaves over a place that had once been blue and moonlit, full of blood and beautiful fountains—

Anakin blinked, now feeling a little dizzy.

Obi-Wan— and even his old,  _living_ self— would have described that special place as sunlit. Green. Full of life.

The fountains might have been there, though.

_I didn't know he cared so much._

_He loved Qui-Gon as much as I love_ him _._

The silence his Master had possessed in those early days of his apprenticeship suddenly made sense.

_If he gave me Ahsoka moments before he died..._

Anakin wasn't sure he could have accepted her. Could he have focused on  _her_ needs,  _her_ grief if she had  _just met_ Obi-Wan?

_I was so selfish,_ he realized.  _Wanting Obi-Wan to comfort_ me _?_

_Yet he did._

Anakin could see that now. Time and distance allowed him to see just how much of himself Obi-Wan had sacrificed to try to help his young apprentice.

_I just didn't know how to interpret it at the time._

Anakin followed Obi-Wan into his room, almost tripping on the droid parts strewn across the floor.

_What was the new grief? There were two. Qui-Gon, and something almost as painful as Qui-Gon, but_ new.

_Something that combining those two and losing me could make death attractive._

Obi-Wan was sitting on his bed, keeping up a steady stream of discussion with his grand padawan about studies and saber practice and the clones—

While rolling up his sleeve.

The gesture revealed two sets of punctures on his wrist.

That had been Anakin's idea. It hurt him to see the bruises on Obi-Wan's throat that only faded to be replaced with  _new_ wounds in a never-ending cycle.

He wanted to give him a chance to heal.

Need quivered through him, insistent and remorseless.

Not missing a beat in his conversation, Obi-Wan held out his arm.

Anakin found himself keenly aware of Ahsoka's gaze as he glided to sit beside his Master. He  _tried_ to make the movement less graceful, closer to his old self—

And knew he'd failed completely.

He'd been hard-pressed to remember to blink and breathe in her presence so far.

But this was going to obliterate any hope of pretending all was as it used to be with the addition of mandatory naptimes.

Anakin gathered Obi-Wan's arm in his hands, raising it to his mouth. He simply inhaled, letting his eyelids half close.

There was an unexpected tingle in his mind as he smelled Obi-Wan's grief.

It was a different texture than the fear. Similar to the pain, but with a headiness all its own.

He could see,  _very_ clearly, why someone might be driven to draw extreme emotions from their...

From the person who...

From their person.

The scent of Obi-Wan's grief on his tongue was intoxicating, and if it wasn't  _Obi-Wan,_ he could see trying to cause more and deeper sorrow in order to taste it—

Or because it  _was_ Obi-Wan—

For a moment Anakin held still, his fangs aching, because he didn't dare injure Obi-Wan with such dangerous thoughts in his mind.

_I love him. I want to protect him from harm, including myself._

_If that means I go without certain flavors, then so_ be  _it._

_It's a small sacrifice to make to demonstrate how much he means to me._

_And as long as I keep selflessness as a priority, I cannot fall to the dark side._

It was just that simple.

Obi-Wan had to have sensed  _some_ of that, surely. The predatory spark wasn't one that was easy to hide.

Worse, Ahsoka had probably—

Yeah.

Her signature was swirling with all kinds of conflicting emotions.

Anakin didn't like nine-tenths of them, and was unsure about that last one.

He nuzzled Obi-Wan's hand, a warning he always gave.

He would never strike without allowing his best friend to prepare.

The expanse of skin, marred only by the marks of his claiming, was so pale, so beautiful—

_No. He's not_ supposed  _to be this pale._

His human was starting to feel the lack of sun.

Worry hummed through Anakin as he sank his fangs through unresisting flesh.

He heard Ahsoka's gasp, but it was meaningless. Blood whispered down his throat, carrying oxygen to his decomposing brain, staving off the destruction of his intellect a little longer.

He saw it all around him, every night.  _Life._

And yet there was a barrier between him and it. Something that could not be bridged. An emptiness that gnawed at the corners of his vision.

The dead craved life.

He cradled Obi-Wan's tense hand in one of his own, icy palm to the warm back, his thumb caressing the joints of his fingers. His right, metal hand traced up and down Obi-Wan's forearm with lazy soothing gestures.

His Master had hid his pain so well this time. Barely a pause between words, only the slight wince in his eyelids.

Only the tension in his jaw and the fingers that hung relaxed in Anakin's care...  _too_ relaxed.

Especially when his other hand formed a tight fist.

“I heard you volunteered to assist with younglings,” Obi-Wan chatted. “Do you think you'd be interested in helping escort them on their first expeditions, or do you want to stick with filling in for the teachers here at the Temple?”

So strong. His Master was so strong, so perfect, so  _selfless,_ so brave—

His fangs shifted and Obi-Wan's eyelids fluttered against the pain, his breathing hitched, and Anakin could sense the desperate urge to slug his friend in the face and  _run_ bleeding down the halls—

Anakin froze.

That thought was too exciting. If his heart had the capacity to beat, it would be thundering at the moment.

Obi-Wan's words fell silent and he held very still.

Anakin simply breathed, fangs still buried deep but no longer drinking, trying to master the urge to terrorize him, simply to taste the fear—

The taste he had experienced back in the maze of shrubs—

_When I nearly killed him._

He withdrew his fangs and pressed his forehead against Obi-Wan's shoulder, struggling for control.

Obi-Wan's hand came up, gently stroking over his hair, his master apparently oblivious to the twin streams of blood sliding down his arm.

“Master Obi-Wan?” Ahsoka whispered.

Anakin closed his eyes, trying to block out her fear, confusion, disgust, revulsion, worry, shock—

Too much.

Way too many emotions assailing him from  _without_ when he was barely dealing with those  _within._

Obi-Wan knew.

His master drew in one breath, and with the next, the last remains of Obi-Wan's tension drained away, leaving his mind as a quiet ocean. Vast, deep, calm.

The chaos in Anakin's own bled away as he simply stared into Obi-Wan's.

He wouldn't be eating again for a while. Not until he was sure he wouldn't hurt his best friend.

He caught Obi-Wan's arm again and applied pressure in the appropriate places, and carefully licked the blood from where it had escaped, watching over the wounds until they had clotted enough to no longer drip.

He could sense Obi-Wan's tired resignation about the tongue.

His master did _not_ like to be caressed.

_Surely there is_ someone  _you don't mind being touched by,_ Anakin speculated.

He knew in  _theory_ that his boundaries had gone fluid, because Obi-Wan had  _told_ him so.

He hadn't realized anything was different until he'd taken in the expressions of shock on the faces of the Council as he knelt before Yoda's seat and studied the crevasses of the wrinkled, old hand.

Yoda hadn't seemed to mind.

And Obi-Wan was allowing the near-constant touch. He seemed to understand that Anakin  _needed_ it, the way his original self had needed to  _breathe._

Death craved constant contact with life, no, it  _needed_ . Needed to consume it, to breathe it, to taste it, to see it, to touch it, to feel it—

He knew there had been a time when a Council meeting did  _not_ entail watching the blood pulse beneath Depa Billaba's fingernails from a vantage point as close as he could bring them to his eyes, or reverently touching Eeth Koth's hair.

Or pacing in a tight circle or zipping from window to window—

Or to the ceiling, giving his report while he inspected the beautiful architecture up there— stone was so  _beautiful..._

Or moments when he completely lost his train of discussion because Obi-Wan's blood smelled so  _necessary—_

But it was hard to remember anything else. This felt  _normal._ Right. It was easy to lose track of the fact that his behavior patterns had changed. Drastically.

The Council was adapting.

If there was one thing the Jedi were prepared for, it was to adapt.

They studied life. They adored it. Treasured it. Protected it in the most efficient ways they could find.

And life was all  _about_ adapting. Changing to answer new, unexpected situations.

All about becoming  _better._

“I'm sorry,” he murmured to Obi-Wan.

His master ran a hand through strangely messy auburn hair. Anakin had been too focused on Ahsoka troubles to notice it earlier, but now he couldn't take his eyes off of it. Force. Each individual hair existed in harmony with all the others. Growing at a similar rate, moving in a certain direction—

Sweet  _night_ , there was gray there. Not much, but he was already counting them—

“Have you had enough?” Obi-Wan asked.

The question had probably been immediate, but it felt like it had taken an eternity to arrive.

Anakin forced his mind to slow down a bit. “For now.”

“Really.” Obi-Wan's voice sounded dry and his eyebrow arched again.

Yes. His skin was  _very_ pale.

_You aren't supposed to look like me._

“Later,” Anakin murmured. “When I'm not— when I don't want to— hurt you.”

And then he was on the other side of the room, leaning against the bench behind Ahsoka, reaching out for the pattern on her montrals. The gray with hints of blue was  _mottled_ into the white, on an almost molecular level—

A startled gasp, and then Ahsoka was practically in Obi-Wan's lap, her Force-signature bristling with startled fear.

Anakin froze, hand still extended.

His gaze sought Obi-Wan's. “Socially unacceptable?” he guessed.

“Slightly,” Obi-Wan returned, as dry as before, as he deposited Ahsoka onto the bed beside him. He patted her knee. “He moves very quickly now, Ahsoka. And his attention span is both longer and shorter than before.”

“What does that even  _mean_ ?” she demanded.

“He can stare at running water for hours and forget everything he was doing, or he won't be able to carry on a conversation because he's already gone several different places in his head in the space of time it takes you to get out a sentence.”

Anakin sighed. “In my defense, if anybody  _else_ would actually  _look_ at the way water moves, they'd get stuck too.”

Ahsoka stared down at Obi-Wan's wounded wrist and suppressed a shudder as best as she could.

But it had caught Anakin's attention.

Any sign of potential weakness did, these days.

Obi-Wan shook his head at him, and Anakin realized that he'd forgotten the essentials again.

_Breathe. Blink. Don't imitate a gargoyle._

_And above all, don't look like you're sizing up prey._

“Master Kenobi... can I talk with you?”

“Certainly.” Obi-Wan sent his former padawan a  _look._

_It's_ my  _room! Why am I the one needing to_ leave _?_

He managed a shrug and sauntered out, trying to hide the worry he felt.

 

* * *

 

“Does it hurt?” Ahsoka asked, eyeing the wounds across Obi-Wan's skin.

The older Jedi considered his answer for a moment before opening his mouth.

Ahsoka didn't like the pause.

“It's tolerable.”

  
_That means it hurts a lot._ She was starting to understand the almost-code that the older Jedi used in order to avoid attention.

“It's a small price to pay to have him with us,” Obi-Wan murmured into her silence. “Most of the time, when someone dies... they're gone.”

“It— he wouldn't hurt you. He can't.”

_He did._   
Obi-Wan didn't say a word.

“I'm not going to just stop believing in him!” Ahsoka burst out. “That wouldn't be  _fair._ Something happens to him, that he  _couldn't help_ , and now I'm having to  _train_ with masters on how to be  _safe_ around him? Did they make  _you_ take classes?”

 

* * *

 

“Ahsoka... the classes are based off of scenarios I lived.”

She stared at him, eyes wide. “But that's not—”

“Every one of those drills, I was the one being aggressed upon. Only they weren't drills.”

“But he never killed you—”

“No.”

“If he didn't hurt you, then—”

Obi-Wan drew in a deep breath and interrupted her. “He did hurt me, Ahsoka. Only two of those... drills... ended without near death on my part. Sometimes I escaped because my knowledge of him can compensate for his sheer power, sometimes, if my body mass had been just a bit less, I would have succumbed to the lost blood.”

She went very still.

“Ahsoka, you can afford to lose less. It was  _Anakin_ who suggested we invent the drills. He doesn't want to give you to some other master, but he wants you to walk into this with your eyes open.”

“I would  _never_ choose another master over him,” Ahsoka declared.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Both Anakin and I know what a bond to a master is like. We didn't think you would want to leave.”  
“I can't walk around with  _this._ ” Ahsoka dropped a box in Obi-Wan's hand. “It feels like I'm just waiting to stab him in the back!”

Curious, Obi-Wan opened the box, and felt Anakin's signature die.

_Oh._

Ahsoka gasped and doubled over, face twisted in pain.

“Easy, Ahsoka. It's alright.”

“ _No_ , it's  _not—_ ” she choked. “He—”

Obi-Wan set the box on the bed, careful to make sure that when the door opened, the light of the strange stone wouldn't touch his former apprentice.

“Come. There's something you need to experience.” He stood, but she made no move to follow.

So he gently took her hand and led her into the hallway.

Ahsoka's feet stopped moving, and her hand slipped from Obi-Wan's.

She stared at the perfect statue of her master, paused in mid-turn, ready to complete another circuit of pacing.

His eyes were open, his forehead twisted in a worry-line, not a breath of movement to be detected.

“He's  _dead,_ ” Ahsoka whispered.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, Ahsoka.”

“How can you— how can you  _stand there_ so  _calmly?_ ”

“Because once we place that stone—”  _what is it and wherever in blazes did they find it?_ “ _—_ back in its shielding, he's going to be moving and talking again.”  
Ahsoka shook her head. “I don't— is that even him? He's messing with me. He put a statue here, and hid himself in the Force, and put you up to this.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Here, Ahsoka.” He gently propelled her forward, and guided her hand up to touch Anakin's hair. “Do you really think we'd go to  _this_ much effort simply as a practical joke?”

Ahsoka squinted up at the unseeing eyes. “But _anything_ could happen to him while he's like this.”  
“Yes.” Obi-Wan felt an inner shiver. “That's why we have to look out for him.”  
“How can he be so powerful and so weak?”

“Everyone is both powerful and weak,” Obi-Wan murmured. “The more power you have, the louder the weakness screams. We're still exploring, trying to find the limits of this new power he's been gifted since death. It only makes sense that weaknesses would be present as well.”

“Wake him up, please. He's—”

_Scaring me. You were about to say_ scaring me _._

Obi-Wan gave a nod, and went to retrieve the stone.

He held the box on its side, careful to not let the stone have a direct line-of-sight with his best friend, but left the lid off until he was standing in front of Ahsoka, where she could see both him and Anakin.

And then he slid the lid closed.

Anakin immediately melted.

And, having been balanced precariously, toppled forward, knocking Obi-Wan to the ground.

Dazed eyes stopped searching for meaning as nostrils flared.

“Easy,” Obi-Wan soothed—

Anakin seized his hand and dragged his wrist to his nose, teeth out, pupils blown—

Obi-Wan winced as Anakin reopened the wounds he'd created minutes earlier.

“ _Master—_ ?”

Anakin froze, carefully unhooked his fangs from Obi-Wan's skin, and looked up at her.

Obi-Wan saw her face drain of color as her master lunged for her.

“Anakin,  _no_ !” Obi-Wan kicked against the floor and followed him, tackling the ice-cold Jedi and knocking him off target.

Anakin snarled, turned, took Obi-Wan's head in his hands—

Ahsoka pounded against Anakin's  _own_ head with the Force, with her fists—

And then Anakin let go and stepped back.

Obi-Wan knelt there, shaking, breathing,  _incredibly_ grateful Anakin hadn't—

“Do you _see_ ?” Anakin growled. “Do you  _get it_ , now?”

Ahsoka stood still, looking almost as if  _she'd_ been the one turned to stone.

“I could have broken his neck, and there would have been  _nothing_ he or you could do about it.” Anakin's tone was severe, though not loud. “ _Nothing._ ” Anakin gestured to the box Obi-Wan still held in quivering fingers. “Did it even occur to you to  _use_ whatever is in there on me?  _No._ Because neither of you are  _willing_ to  _hurt_ me in order to save yourselves. You'll assume, up until I kill you, that at the  _very last minute_ I'll come to my senses and relent. You'll be  _dead,_ and still believing it.

“Except for  _you._ ” Anakin took a menacing step towards Obi-Wan.

In response, the man stood to his feet. It might not be a very  _impressive_ act of defiance, but it was hard to offer more when he was this much shorter than the other.

“ _You_ have no  _moonbeams-in-the-eyes_ confidence. You  _know_ that one of these days I'm going to come back to myself a second too late.”

Ahsoka's startled glance locked on Obi-Wan's face, and the older Jedi held carefully still.

Anakin took another step forward, and Obi-Wan took one back—

Found his back hit the wall.

“No one is safe,” Anakin murmured, staring at Obi-Wan's throat. “You need to get me out of here.  _Now._ A thousand heartbeats, all screaming to be silenced—”

Obi-Wan seized his hand and ran for the door.

He didn't look back to see if Ahsoka joined them.

Instead, he led his friend to the hangar, and shoved him into the cockpit of a shuttle.

Gritting his teeth against the ride he  _knew_ was coming next, he threw himself into the copilot's seat and strapped in.

As tightly as  _possible._

And then he had his eyes squeezed tight shut as Anakin drove the ship to its max and beyond, ignoring all traffic control and customs, simply streaking for space.

Eventually, he realized the speeds had settled.

Wincing an eye open, he found Anakin watching him.

“When did you figure out it was an act?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan forced his eyes to fully take him in. “What?”

  
Anakin nodded, and stared out the viewport. “I heard you and Ahsoka talking.”

  
“It would have been impossible for you to  _not._ You were probably hearing the conversations in every room down that hall.”

  
Anakin nodded. “I hated the thought of scaring her. But then I wondered what it would be like to find her under my hands,  _dead_ , the way I found you on that cursed  _shrub planet_ .” Anakin shuddered. “I decided that allowing her to continue fighting against what I am now was to betray her to save my own feelings.”

“Your attack— the heartbeats— all of it was a show?” Obi-Wan clarified, relieved.  _So_ relieved.

Another nod. “It terrified her.”  
“Good.” Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair. “I know it sounds cruel, but she was never going to accept the truth until she'd experienced a moment of helplessness. I certainly didn't.”

“But I couldn't bring myself to threaten  _her._ Just in case something went wrong.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “That's good, Anakin. She's still a minor. She can't consent. I've already given you permission to take my blood.”

Anakin stared down at his hands for a long, silent moment. “What are we going to do, Obi-Wan?” he whispered.

“Hey.” Obi-Wan reached out and placed his palm against Anakin's cheek. “What we've always done. Figure it out.”

Anakin sighed. “I wanted to visit Padmé, but I'm not sure it's wise.”

“You're staying in a Temple that holds hundreds of little children. Is it less wise than that?”

Anakin huffed a bitter laugh. “You're something else. You know that?”

“I have yet to determine whether that's a good thing,” was Obi-Wan's dry reply. “You ready to go home?”

  
Anakin nodded. “Hopefully Ahsoka will have requested a master change by now.”

“She's going to disappoint you.”

Obi-Wan and Anakin spun around to find Ahsoka standing in the doorway, arms crossed and a scowl in her forehead that didn't reach her lips.

“You better not end up killing _either_ Obi-Wan or me, because _both_ of us would end up very, _very_ annoyed. And Padmé would never let you hear the end of it.”

“ _Ahsoka,_ ” Anakin groaned, dropping his head into the console.

Electricity danced across the surface and a few tiny explosions and microscopic puffs of smoke flared—

“Oh, for the love of  _night._ ” Anakin pulled himself upright. His fingers danced as he pulled out wires and began to assess the damage.

“Being made of stone stinks sometimes, does it?” Ahsoka asked, her posture relaxing just a little.

“You don't even know the  _half_ of it, Snips.”

 

 


End file.
